


Endymion

by crazywalls



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Art, Asexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Painting, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sleepy Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazywalls/pseuds/crazywalls
Summary: As the sun slowly sets over New York and Bucky is dozing, Steve can't help but capture the moment.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 13
Kudos: 42





	Endymion

**Author's Note:**

> While going through my fic folder I found this one and decided to finally finish it. This story was inspired by Francesco Solimena’s painting „Diana and Endymion“. There are several version of the Roman and Greek myth (some are pretty yikes imo) but their relationship is often seen as *the* allegory of platonic love which seems more than fitting - and I adore the way Endymion is portrayed in this piece.

It was the softest of sounds that woke him. At first, he didn’t know what had risen him from sleep, then the light scratching of graphite against a canvas registered. The scent of coffee and caramel, of old books and paper crept into his nose. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he slowly blinked, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the glow of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the building across the street and peeking in through thin curtains. 

On the other side of the room a pair of blue eyes were fastened onto a pad, brows drawn together above them. Finally, they rose to meet Bucky’s and fine lines crinkled around their corners when Steve smiled back at him.

“Hey there.”

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice was a little hoarse, scratchy to his own ears, and he noticed how Steve swallowed at the sound of it.

“Maybe you should get some more rest, go back to sleep. You’ve had a long night.”

“So have you,” Bucky mumbled but closed his eyes again, barely hearing Steve humming instead of a reply as his head rolled to the side and the barely audible noises of traffic outside and the pencil in Steve’s hand lulled him back to sleep.

*

A masterpiece, Steve already knew it. There was not a hint of doubt in his mind as his hand hovered over the canvas, copying the sketch, finishing the underdrawing and finally setting down the pencil. To his right, a handful of brushed just waited to bring his subject to life, fill in white spaces and create a piece so beautiful it would show the world what he saw – most importantly, though, it would show the subject himself how Steve saw him.

He took one of the brushes from the paint-stained cup, rounded and with soft bristles, a familiar weight in his hand. The palette had already been chosen for him by the setting sun, warm tones: different hues of reds, ochre, brown, a bit of pink, warm greys and nudes. As he mixed the colours he needed, his eyes flitted across the room now and again, never for long because he knew time was limited. Still he couldn’t help himself, let his eyes linger longer than they should, just a few more seconds. 

The first stroke of the brush was almost hurried, and Steve had to force himself to slow down. Even with the knowledge that the lighting was ever changing, he wanted to make this right, set his strokes deliberately, capture the atmosphere perfectly, and that required patience – as much as the sun allowed.

It was a process he was always able to lose himself in, the entire world around him fading into the background, until nothing mattered but his canvas, the paint and the subject he had selected. As the smell of acrylic paint took over the room, the half empty mug of coffee was nothing more than an afterthought, an inconvenience placed too close to the splattered cup with paint water, and Steve caught himself more than once just before he dunked his brushes into the lukewarm beverage.

With the last rays of sunlight he stepped back and took it all in. Lighting so soft it made scars almost invisible as it painted a blush on bare skin that reminded Steve of endless hours spent in bed, affectionately whispered words, turning cheeks pink, a face buried in the pillow to hide the flush, brown hair sticking into all directions. It accentuated half a face, drew the gaze towards a strong chest and invited the observer to run their eyes – the tips of their fingers – down, over a muscular stomach and to a crumpled up blanket. 

Golden light was thrown back into the dusky room, reflecting off smooth metal, while deep shadows accentuated the silhouette and set it apart from the background, animating skin and muscles. Warm shade forged a strong shoulder and caressed abs, emphasised ideal lines and muscles that Steve was all too familiar with. The ridges between metal plates, painted almost black where shadows engulfed them, were even darker than the spaces where soft fabric touched skin and dipped into the v between legs. Despite the sharp look of the plates with their edges and patterns, the strong fingers that could easily crush steel seemed almost delicate, supporting the head that had tipped back in sleep, cheek resting against the back of a hand.

The deep, warm auburn of the blanket just emphasized the blush even further. For a moment Steve wanted to cross the room and tug at it, reveal everything underneath, but he restrained himself and concentrated on putting the finishing touches to his painting as the warm colours made way for greying semidarkness. 

They had been living together like this for almost two years now, and some days Steve still couldn’t quite believe it. He got to wake up next to Bucky every morning, his face buried in soft brown hair more often than not, and he would pull Bucky tighter against his chest only to fall asleep again for a short while. The feeling of Bucky’s skin pressed against his own, the beating of his heart echoing Steve’s as the rise and fall of his chest reassured him that Bucky was, in fact, alive. And his. 

Never in all the years growing up together would he have imagined the both of them ending up like this, he thought as the last bit of light smudged the silhouette in front of his eyes like a blurred aquarelle after a rainstorm. 

He set down the brush, then crossed the room, slowly as to avoid making the old floorboards creak. The dark blanket caught his attention once more and Steve felt the urge to drag it away again; his hands itching to get underneath, caress the skin that would almost feel feverish, but instead he opted for ghosting his fingers over a collarbone and upwards to cup a cheek as he leaned in to press a kiss to Bucky’s temple.

He knew Bucky would always favour these soft, intimate moments, waking up to Steve kissing his forehead. Being vulnerable yet able to trust Steve was more profound than Steve could have imagined, more intimate than Bucky would ever allow himself to be with anyone else. It was something Steve would never risk, no matter how badly he wanted to touch Bucky, to follow the strong lines of his body down and under that damn blanket, knowing full well it was the only thing covering him. The last thing he wanted was to make Bucky uncomfortable and cross lines he was still trying to figure out. Still, it didn’t stop the images in his mind, even as he shook his head, and the small groan that left Buckys lips when he kissed his cheek made him swallow. 

To this day he wasn’t sure why Bucky had stuck around, but Steve couldn’t be any happier about it, no matter how many rough days they had. Days like this with no obligations so they could sleep whenever were his favourite, when Steve would eventually sneak off to get his art supplies or pretend to read something while he watched his boyfriend. It was days like this that he almost managed to fool himself, pretending like they weren’t any different from anybody else, and he knew Bucky felt the same. 

*

As he opened his eyes, Bucky stretched his arms above his head and felt a tug in the small of his back. Maybe he really was getting too old to fall asleep on the sofa. With a soft ‘pop’ he craned his neck and sat up, catching the blanket just in time before it slid off of him and onto the floor. When he looked up, he caught Steve’s gaze. He knew that look all too well, appreciation and warmth accompanied by something deeper, darker, as Steve bit his lip, and it made something in Bucky’s stomach tingle.

Without a word, Bucky reached for Steve’s shirt and tugged softly. It didn’t need any convincing for Steve to lean down and meet Bucky’s lips in a slow kiss, and Bucky sighed happily.

“You got paint on your face,” he murmured when Steve broke the kiss to sit down next to him. Warm fingertips brushed over Steve’s cheek and down his jaw before coming to rest on the back of Steve’s neck to pull him into another deep kiss. 

If there was one thing Steve was positive about, it was that there was nothing in the entire world he would trade this for.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this counts as post-canon fix it due to Endgame which I still refuse to watch sooo anyway I hope you liked these soft boys :)  
> Apologies for any mistakes, my written English has gotten a bit rusty over the past couple months


End file.
